


hiraeth

by fortunatehearts



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Internalized Homophobia, Lack of Communication, M/M, Mutual Pining, but that’s a given
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 05:43:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21156560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortunatehearts/pseuds/fortunatehearts
Summary: Best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield. Barnes is the only Howling Commando to give his life in service of his country.





	hiraeth

**Author's Note:**

> this was meant to be a 3 part fix it but i’m not sure if i’ll ever write the other two parts?? i have my entire story outlined but i lost motivation after endgame did All That, and also because i’m back to hyperfixating on Stephen King’s It so..... here’s ‘A History of (Steve Rogers and) Bucky Barnes as Bucky Remembers and Forgets It’

He’s selfish. Sometimes that’s what it takes to survive. 

Maybe if he had talked to enough pretty girls he would have convinced himself that he felt something. Or they could have helped him get rid of that looming emptiness. Others felt it too when they read it in the papers in the morning. That quiet sickening feeling that they too would get dragged into a feud they wouldn’t quite understand yet. But that was just war. 

Repetitive as it was, like the sly smile that formed effortlessly on his face after a long night of dancing, you simply had to stick to the script. Give her a short glance to reel her in, get closer to her like the two of you were blessed to meet tonight, all that’s left is a compliment and a wink and you’re set to spend the rest of the night with each other’s company. You’ll find yourself holding onto the other like you might let out your final breath when morning comes. 

It was simple really. Mimicking the bachelor type. Sure, the flings didn’t last more than a week but those with a young heart have no regard for the previous disappointment, they just keep on looking. 

The bars were the least bit memorable during those days, even if you used to go often, the barkeep would look different every time. Doesn’t matter if it was the same man that passed you a glass last Friday night, the moments blend together and the names become harder to match to the beautiful face. The girls hardly notice, too busy with the sharp tongue and piercing blues that occupy all of their attention because it’s  _ so hard  _ to find a man these days with eyes like those. 

He doesn’t want to say that the girls didn’t matter, they were lovely to be around. Objectively it was all fun, but when he realized that freshly shaved jawlines leading to a pronounced adam’s apple looked more tempting than anything else he’d ever known, they were a damn good distraction. 

One particular night went like this: 

He carefully tried to convince Steve to go through with him on this.  _ C’mon, Stevie, I’m basically shoving your hand in her pants. _

Steve spluttered and told him to  _ Shut your trap! _

He glared and said it like this;  _ I have better things to do than follow you around like a stray dog. _

His actions stilled, it wasn’t the first or last time they would have a similar argument. For a split second his facade faded and he had to put it back on before Steve would poke at the cracks he left exposed. So he sighed.  _ How am I supposed to help you find a gal-  _

But Steve interrupted him with  _ What if I can do it on my own?  _ His voice was hard and unshaken. 

He didn’t know what to say but he pushed through the awkward confrontation, the air suddenly became thick and heavy with their resolves.  _ I’m not trying to stop you.  _ He tried to reply jokingly but it came across as aggressive in his mind. His lips pursed unconsciously as he forced himself to stay in control of his conflicting emotions. There was something left unsaid and unclear, so he grabbed his discarded jacket and walked out into the cold streets of their city. 

Bucky was undeniably convinced this was another one of their quick spats, they’d both apologize before the sun rose and then continue their day a little more peaceful than the night before. But it racked his brain like no other, the sidewalks seemed so interesting all of a sudden and when he met up with the two girls, neither of them mentioned the absence of his friend. He gave the girls a toothy grin and continued through the night, his mind still fixated on Steve’s steady words. 

They ruminate in his head until a pair of eyes sat a few seats away from him caused him to stumble on his words. He nearly cursed out loud at fault of his slip up. One girl giggled and said  _ Cat got your tongue? _

He chuckled,  _ That’s one way to say it. _

The other girl smiled sweetly,  _ Then how would you put it? _

The pair of eyes suddenly got up and walked by him like nothing happened.  _ I thought I saw a ghost.  _ He smirked and they both laughed, amused. He thought about lying and saying he’s gotta be home early for some bullshit reason, maybe use his ma to spin it. She would surely scold him for that. But just any little reason to excuse himself and follow after those warm brown eyes and the light brown hair and impossibly- he stopped. Then for the second time that night, he picked up his mask. He almost wanted to permanently glue it to his face. 

If he did that, maybe he wouldn’t mind the lipstick marks by the corner of his jaw or the perfume filling his lungs with their floral scent. He could learn not to be so selfish. 

Because the moment he stepped through their apartment door, a small candle lit in order to give him some light because the curtains were drawn, he knew walking in the dark would become easier than breathing. His footsteps felt heavy but only made slight creaks in the wooden floor. He peeled off his clothes that night like it was another skin. His hand moved up to his face to wipe at the possible marks still left on his jaw. The red would sufficiently stain his thumb for the next day or two. Like a reminder. 

His voice rose in a raspy rumble,  _ Home early? _

As for the other, his words bubbled up slowly, the guilt was too much,  _ I’m sorry _ . Bucky paused like he was about to continue, but the thoughts didn’t exist long enough to leave his head. 

Steve didn’t say a single word to acknowledge the apology but the words remained in the air. 

Neither of them ever brought it up again. He wants to pretend the words don’t replay in his head. The regrets from nights similar to those still feel like fresh cuts in his skin. The kind that heal quickly but sting like a sonofabitch. 

-

Contrary to popular belief, nothing happened until Azzano. 

Investigate the early years all you want but there’s not much important stuff left to say about their childhood that hasn’t been tattled off in a museum or written in more than 50 different books. They were poor, simple as that. So was everyone else at the time.

But there is some of their story left out. Purely trivial but charming. 

To the normal passing tourist, they wouldn’t care to know that for a couple years Bucky was shorter than Steve. There’s no photographs (that survived) to prove it but it was as real as Steve’s thesis-long list of ailments. Laughable, too. Maybe he’d even be a rat to say the day they met was just about the worst day of his life. For both of them really. Bucky was running away from his family and Steve was just running. Or, as much as his asthmatic lungs would take him until he decided to gamble his life away and throw the first punch. Their meeting was pretty underwhelming too.

As in, the bully took off running at the sight of Bucky. He didn’t even get his quick minute of heroism because next thing you know Steve’s back on his feet still gasping breaths like he’ll croak any minute now, but he’s got this mean glare. Scariest sick kid he’d ever met. So Bucky told him this sentiment without any ounce of shame. 

_ Are you lookin’ for a shiner too? _ Steve said back, it was an empty bluff of course. He might’ve passed out if Bucky had so much as touched him. 

Bucky sighed and asked  _ You live on this street?  _ Steve shook his head. God, does he ever stop frowning?  _ Alright, well I do, so you’re coming with me- _

_ What, why?  _

Bucky leveled him with a look.  _ Relax, my ma can patch you up and then maybe we can pretend like we never met. She might try and get some meat on those bones, so fair warning.  _

Thus began Steve’s streak. He patted off the dirt on his pants and walked indignantly past Bucky and said  _ I’m fine on my own.  _ like the headstrong idiot he was born to be. 

Bucky turned back to face him and before he could think twice he was swinging an arm around Steve’s shoulders and dragging him back to his house. They walked in a light silence to Bucky’s house, he remembers Steve’s incessant sniffles and the blood dripping from his nose onto the clean white shirt that was too big on him. He also can still hear his ma’s thundering voice lecturing him for letting Steve get tossed around like that. 

The good thing is that she fell in love with Steve right away, and no matter how much Steve pretended that he hated being fussed over, Winifred Barnes was a force to be reckoned with.

Many speculate about the intensity of their friendship before he got shipped out but that was really all there was to it. They were best friends. Not the kind that get introduced as babies because their moms are friends and they have no choice but to be around each other, but the kind who’s bond is forged like it was just always there before it was. Never one without the other, it was downright annoying. 

That didn’t prove to be an actual issue until Steve received the notice the 107th Infantry was currently being held at a laboratory in Azzano. Any arguments caused because they cared too much about the other didn’t hold nearly as much weight until Steve marched his stubborn ass into one of the most dangerous missions possible. Their innocuous little quarrels meant nothing in comparison to Steve’s resolve. You could pull on a loose thread and the endless bickering with their blinds drawn and stiff shoulders fall apart completely because this was the worst decision Steve would ever make. 

There Bucky was, a mindless lunatic, strapped down to a metal table as he mumbled the same phrase over and over again. He had to be told what happened because his first memory from that day was Steve’s bright blue eyes in the dim light. Bucky’s brain was short circuiting but that didn’t matter because Steve was here. He came. 

Next he felt a familiar but foreign warmth on the side of his face from Steve’s large hands and heard his name said like a prayer in the middle of the night. The touch was so light but it burned the inside of him more than he could bare. 

_ Steve?  _ he recalled saying in quiet disbelief. He was so ready to die a few moments ago but there he was, that stupid bastard. Each and every single muscle in his body leading up to this screamed at him not to say his name, to keep it in. A beautiful delusion, Bucky wanted to call it. The furrow in his brow, the curve of his lips, the mole on his left cheek. Everything was Steve, Steve, Steve. 

Maybe it was the sedative messing with his head because he still wobbled while Steve supported most of Bucky’s weight with his newly bulky frame. His breath was coming out ragged and strained but nothing was a better distraction than trying to come up with a logical explanation as to how in god’s name Steve ended up in this hellhole. 

Nothing made sense. The explanation was probably as choppy and heavily redacted as the letters he sent to Steve while they were thousands of miles away from the other. 

Everything became bigger than him all at once. Bigger than both of them. The war wasn’t as simple as everyone thought and Steve learned that lesson quicker than he did. Bucky clung to the rail and when Steve decided for both of them that he was expendable, something pulled at his ribcage. 

_ No, not without you!  _ he screamed without a second thought. His jaw clenched and that was it, that was the moment when the panic dipped low in his belly. He outlined one of his deepest truths. Not one person could take this from him, but if he dared to admit it awoke something in him, he would be too afraid to say it out loud.

When the fire cleared and the ashes settled, Steve had to pick up the pieces. As much as they complained and bickered about  _ taking orders from a guy in a tacky costume _ , his hard commands comforted the soldiers and thus the trek back begun. It would take them longer than expected to get back to camp but Bucky wasn’t sure if that was a relief or a death sentence. 

But Steve had the orders and, for now, all they could do was listen to him. Bucky didn’t have it in him to put any thought into what kind of science fair experiments they did in that lab. No one had time, they were still battling to survive the night. 

Almost instantly after reaching a safe distance from enemy territory, his mind began to wander. He had so many questions for Steve. Did you hear me call your name in my prayers? Could you feel my heart ache from across the Atlantic? How could you and I be so lucky and unfortunate at the same miserable fucking time? The only question his moronic mind could muster up the courage to say out loud was _Did it hurt?_ _Y’know… when they did what they did to you. _The two were keeping watch with a few others as the rest of the men slept, every so often someone would switch out but Steve was committed to staying up the longest. Bucky had decided to take out the small trophy he picked up when they were escaping that hellhole and was cleaning the knife with a dirty rag, stolen haphazardly in the midst of the chaos. The blade itself was beautiful, he would make work of removing the crest on the grip in his spare time but for now he simply appreciated the reflection of the light from the small lamp in between them. 

Steve looked at Bucky like he would disappear if he glanced away for a second too long. There was also some other unreadable light in Steve’s eyes that had to have appeared after Bucky shipped out, he almost couldn’t look for too long or s-  _ I’ve experienced worse.  _ And it was probably true. His entire life has been a jumble of every type of pain that exists. To Steve that might’ve been a walk in the park when you look at how many times he was five steps away from death’s doorstep.  _ On the bright side, I can see a lot more colors now.  _

Bucky huffed  _ Is that why you won’t stop starin’ at me?  _ His heart felt a little easy then, almost calm. 

All Steve could do in return was purse his lips and duck his head with a soft chuckle. He met Bucky’s eyes again.  _ Nah, I just realized how much uglier you are in full color. _

_ You’re a real punk, you know that? _ He bickered back with no real malice. He missed this. When they could pretend the world wasn’t pushing them towards this “greater cause.” Or maybe that’s what Bucky wanted to believe. Steve was on this road since the moment he tried to throw his first punch. 

Yes, since then.

When the survivors made it back to the camp he couldn’t help but let his rottenness get the best of him.  _ Let’s hear it for Captain America! _ His throat burned when he said it but the cheers were enough to hide behind. Steve looked at him solemnly, in return Bucky raised his eyebrows teasingly and smiled. He felt like he was drowning. As soon as Steve turned his head Bucky didn’t waste another moment to take a cursory glance at his physique.

His stomach lept and he clenched his jaw. There was a moment where the little rations they ate for breakfast threatened to rise in his throat. The nausea soon gave way to nothing- the feeling evaporated into thin air, replaced with a faint acidity crawling into his mouth. 

Bucky didn’t want to tell Steve that there were no reminiscents of the pneumonia he was carrying only days ago when he was on his deathbed with Jones by his side and the crazy schmucks decided ‘Might as well take the dying one!’ Morita told him they practically dragged him by the skin of his knees, nearly refusing to touch him. 

But that’s not what the focus is here.

The problem was that Bucky didn’t know where he was going. Even when they gave him the opportunity to go back to the States and get his life back in Brooklyn, he simply didn’t see his future there. At least, not anymore. This decision was not the first of his many mistakes but a continuation of a long string of idiocracy that began when he first saw Steve getting the living daylights beat out of him for chasing after a kid that kicked the neighborhood cat. 

Then there was that night at the bar after they returned. The warm glow and the bright red cheeks of celebrating freedom, it was addicting. Laughter was to be had and the pints were nearly bottomless. What was there to complain about?

He found himself at on a stool next to Steve. Neither of them wanted to tell the other that the alcohol had no effect and it was painfully obvious. So instead he lost himself in the uncertainty of his own future, that was enough to leave him a little bit lightheaded. Maybe it was because Steve didn’t  _ have  _ to ask him to stay… He already knew the answer. He knew Bucky. 

As much as Bucky told himself his home was back in his city, that was a lie, plain as day. He stared quietly into the whiskey that filled his untouched glass. His new home was here, on the battlefield, with his best friend’s disheveled helmet hair that needed a lotta fixing and the stark white star plastered on his chest.

At that moment Steve decided to ask him, phrased in a way so dramatic it wasn’t hard to believe that he starred in all those silly Captain America pictures some of his guys talked about,  _ Would you follow Captain America into the jaws of death? _

Bucky would do it blindfolded with his arms tied behind his back. He hesitated because his answer lacked hesitation. So Bucky said he would follow the small kid from Brooklyn. His bones ached and his soul gave way to the honesty in his words. The ghost of a pain settled deep in his stomach. Like the whiskey was burning a hole in his guts and all he could do was let it happen. Bucky’s smile transformed into a grimace when Steve turned away from him. 

She walked through the doorway that night with one thing on her mind. He could hear her confidence in the strong click of her heels on the rickety wooden floor of the hole-in-the-wall bar they found themselves in. The red dress was hard to miss but not as much as the way Steve lost his breath at the sight of her. 

Bucky played her up with a cocky smile and a half-assed line but her eyes never left Steve’s face. 

When he realized it wouldn’t work on her he also realized he didn’t know what side he was playing on. He let them be but he couldn’t focus on anything, not with the erratic beat of his heart pounding in his eardrums. That’s when the pain surged lower and lower, almost like a punishment. There wasn’t a drug powerful enough to get rid of a pain quite like this one. 

Or maybe it was a girl. Maybe her name was easily forgettable but all the liquor in the world couldn’t falter him that night and the ones that followed. But there was Carrie. With her thin porcelain hand she pushed her hair behind her ears and looked at him from below her pretty lashes. If he leaned a little closer to catch her perfume, no one would care. In quiet voices they teased and taunted each other. Her fingers meddled with the sides of his uniform and he shivered. She smirked at the way his body responded to her touches. 

_ Wanna go for a walk under the stars?  _ her voice was dripping a sweetness that border lined eating a spoonful of pure sugar. Her hand tugged on his wrist and he spent no time contemplating, she decided for them. 

They walked out and no one spared a curious glance in their direction. He almost forgot he was making puppy-dog eyes not less than an hour ago. Carrie was a different kind of intoxicating. As soon as they were outside the dirty pub she dropped his hand but still waited for him to follow her. He couldn’t help it. Tonight was rolling over slower than molasses, he needed this. Her eyes met his and suddenly he was reaching up to tangle a hand in her hair and rest the other on her waist. This was like clockwork. 

He pressed her lightly against the wall and she rested her hands on his shoulders. His conscious was at ease and if her lips tasted like nothing, that was fine. She made a soft noise and continued trailing a hand along his neck up to his jaw. When he startled at the touch she pulled back. Her gaze was stoney and serious.  _ You’re makin’ me believe you’ve done this about a hundred times but have never touched a woman before? How does that work? _

His jaw clenched tightly but she didn’t show any signs of slapping him in the face so he stayed. Bucky made an effort to hold her stare.  _ I don’t know what you mean… _ But he did know. She saw right through the tight-lipped teeth-hidden smile. Maybe she had seen him staring into his drink with vacant eyes and took pity on this war-torn soldier boy. That’s what everyone around them would've thought. But she saw everything else. 

_ Who’re you thinkin’ about?  _ She asked softly. He couldn’t read her face. His brows furrowed and then he forced his face to relax. He felt the urge to pick up his mask before someone else would. But at the moment Carrie was dangling it in front of his face. 

A sad smirk formed on his lips and he looked at the ground.  _ You caught me.  _ She backed away, putting more space between them.  _ I miss her to death. _ His voice shook.  _ You remind me of her.  _ But Carrie didn’t and that was perfect. 

_ It’s a shame I don’t have blue eyes and blonde hair.  _ Bucky’s hooded eyes snapped open like he had just awakened from a nightmare. Except this was worse. When he lifted his gaze, she laughed sweetly. No mirth. He couldn’t risk saying another word. He was already planning to run. 

Carrie grabbed Bucky’s hand again. _ Come with me  _ she whispered close to his ear. He couldn’t do anything but follow. If he had looked a little closer he might’ve seen the scythe she carried behind her back and the petals that fell from the flower placed in her hair. 

The next morning he had forgotten most of what she looked like but her name fixated itself permanently on his skin like another scar. 

-

Waking up in the tents one morning he had a comforting thought. 

Even with all the weird chemicals pumping through Steve’s body, nothing could affect the steady rumble of his voice. It echoed through Bucky’s chest and rattled his ribs. He wanted to melt into his boots when Steve spoke in a particularly soft manner because it contrasted with the serious tone that plagued their conversations since they changed his title to ‘Captain.’ He fit into that mold so well… 

The day Steve lost his ma and his voice cracked for the first time since he was 15, Bucky couldn’t help but note how wrong it sounded. No matter how small he was, Steve always had this huge presence. Bigger than his body, people who knew him would say. His voice was the only thing that matched and as soon as that strength wilted just a little bit, you could  _ hear _ it. 

Now that the size of his lungs could handle his demands… it comforted him in an odd way. But the cost? Steve never shuts his stupid mouth in front of their COs and he runs. He runs everywhere. This meant that if he dropped everything to run in and get one small stupid piece of junk for Stark to fiddle with, well he was gonna get an earful, that’s for damn sure. 

_ Listen, pal, I don’t care what kind of magic spells they did to make you look like you came out of the womb swinging, but you can’t just compromise the objective like that! _ Bucky inhales a ragged breath and crosses his arms over his chest. He looks at Steve expectedly.  _ You got anything to say?  _ They were already back at base but Steve came out with a couple more scratches than necessary for what they were assigned. 

Steve blinks.  _ Oh, can I talk now?  _ His tone was teasing but a muscle in Bucky’s eyebrow twitched and Steve looked like he immediately tucked his tail between his legs.  _ Look, I’m just trying to make myself useful-  _

Bucky rolled his eyes and murmured  _ That’s fucking rich.  _ There he goes again with that bullshit, he thought.  _ I get that you’re never satisfied but, Steve, you’re allowed to care about yourself for more than a few minutes at a time.  _

Steve held his gaze and then his shoulders dropped slowly, a sign that he’s forcing his body to relax and that Bucky had won the battle but Steve would never learn.  _ Just like old times. _ He laughed softly. 

Bucky let out a quick breath of exasperation.  _ Tell me about it.  _ He let his arms drop to signal that he would drop the subject… temporarily. 

But he was worried for nothing, really. If Steve came back from Italy with bruised knuckles they’d heal faster than the previous time. The more his body got used the healing the more injuries he could sustain in battle. That was the most stressful aspect that took the group a while to figure out. 

He doesn’t recall much from the year or two the U.S. Army let them run wild. Under the supervision of a selected few of course… Captain America was out on the frontlines saving our best guys according to the scripts the government wrote for him. 

While some of that held a bit of integrity, it was better for the public to stay shielded from the blood that soaked the Captain’s hands. Laughter was enough to direct the attention away from a wound but the theatrics of war are unsettling and disgusting. 

Bodies left lying in piles, indistinguishable among the mud and tattered uniforms they carry. A good man would cover them and then let nature take its course, but the souls that walk these paths were no longer thought of as men. 

As they walked through ghost towns to get to their next location, one had to keep their stare facing straight forward to avoid falling apart at the thought of all the lives people abandoned in the middle of the night. The neighborhoods left unscathed were the hardest to escape. Some of the shops were boarded up but the rest of the houses appeared to be untouched by war. They carried the innocence of its previous inhabitants.

The only sounds that traveled in the streets were the scuff of boots on the wet cobblestone road and the rough thrum of the tank in front of them. He knew in his gut that there were eyes on him from a building to his left. A small careless movement of the curtains could cost a life. The others noticed too, their purposeful mistake for entering a possibly occupied area in the maps. 

Their fear rung louder than the silence. Bucky was well adapted to containing it and sealing it away but not the marksman aiming at Steve. 

The dirt covered white star on the dramatically bright blue did little to conceal their location, so they always prepared for this type of outcome. The shooter missed his target and Bucky took the shot not a second later. 

The sound of broken glass was enough to trigger a wave of chaos. 

The soldiers that scouted the area the day before returned with limited information and a bullet in the arm so this was a serious gamble. 

But he doesn’t remember much after the first shot was taken. Noises and places mix together, soon they appeared as dreams. Not long after his wake would he realize they were actually nightmares. 

The team reached a small settlement in France after never ending days of surveying the rising resistant groups across western Europe. They received orders to provide support for a couple weeks while their COs figured out upcoming movements from Italy. 

This wasn’t how Bucky imagined visiting France. In some fantasy world he pictured walking down the streets of Paris, free from any valid judgement because no one knew his name. He heard a great deal about a bunch of good painters that came from France. If Steve was still in Brooklyn, Bucky’d buy him some fancy art supplies and let him go wild in the apartment. 

But they were in the countryside. The sky was quite bleak and the faint drizzle of rain hadn’t stopped since they stepped foot on the muddy soil of the settlement. The group entered the dusty barn where the resistance group set up their short term base of operations. Dernier was the primary communicator between the two groups but Bucky picked out a few familiar words. 

Steve talked to Edgar, the resistance leader, with a stern tone and eventually he gave a curt nod. He was the only one besides Jones who knew as much French as Denier. Languages came to him so naturally, it was alarming at times. 

A few moments later, Dernier let out a small breath of relief and Bucky took that as his cue to excuse himself while the rest got acquainted with the remaining members of the group. 

While outside he had brought out a cigarette and let out a small curse when he recalled trading the last of his matches at camp before they left for France. Suddenly he picked up the soft crunch of boots on the grassy dirt by the barn and it startled him enough that he reached for his gun. 

The man at fault raised his hands in surrender but he had a slightly amused look on his face. Then he murmured jokingly  _ You Americans.  _ while he pulled out a small box of matches. 

Bucky watched his movements carefully as the man offered one to him.  _ I am Daniel.  _ Bucky struck one, lit his cigarette and muttered a quick thank you. He took a quick drag, quietly glancing down at the empty field where animals might have previously grazed. Maybe the farmer let them roam free when he found out he had to flee his land.

Daniel seemed to look at him with a judgmental gaze, possibly waiting for Bucky to reply with his own name but instead he said with smooth appraisal  _ Beautiful eyes _ . Bucky’s gaze snapped upwards to meet Daniel’s and his blood ran cold. It was hard to run away from this feeling when it came to him like muscle memory. He clenched his jaw and considered his next actions. 

As Bucky raced through a million interpretations of what exactly Daniel meant, Daniel took this as a silent invitation and moved in closer. His warm tan skin and the small beauty mark under his left eye was almost enough to draw Bucky in but the bubbling fear rising from his stomach controlled his every movement. He opened his mouth to say something, anything but his throat ceased and all he could think to do was to push Daniel away with a look of disgust. 

Daniel quietly apologized to Bucky when he saw the wild fear in his eyes, familiar to that of a feral animal. Any more sudden movements from him and Bucky would have gone for the throat. Daniel walked away with careful steps, his head turned slightly at one point like he wanted to say something but he didn’t have the right words. He never approached Bucky again after that encounter. 

Bucky knows of men who forced themselves onto other men because of the lack of female companionship. He knows of men who hide their attraction to other men but were able to find companionship on the field. He also knows himself, terrified and isolated. It was the only way he felt safe. What a laughable thought. He was able to find a permanent source of safety during a fucking war. 

-

Years passed by with a warped cruelty. 

He can still hear the high pitched buzz of the saw before it-

They told him Steve died in a plane crash. Soon after that, they found it was easier for them to control him. 

What a specimen he- it is. It has all the mechanics of the perfect soldier. That makes sense because it  _ was _ the perfect soldier in the life it had before. The training is engrained deep into the tissue of it’s muscles like it was destined to maneuver a gun or throw a 200 lb man to the ground. Brute force comes naturally and this is apparent from all the scientists that had to die before they could get all the human out of it. It is the vessel to carry out all the destruction they need. 

Thus begun the tests. The question they wanted an answer to? Well that’s simple really, how much pain can the specimen handle? It needs to be resilient in order to become stronger. 

Electrocution, bullet wounds, deep cuts, broken bones, It’s all necessary to understand the specimen. Its regenerative qualities are revolutionary. The tests have also proven to be an excellent way to break the human spirit. 

The next step was to help it forget the unnecessary memories it once had and live to serve only its handlers. 

-

_ Желание _

_ Ржавый _

_ Семнадцать _

_ Рассвет _

_ Печь _

_ Девять _

_ Доброкачественный _

_ Возвращение на родину _

_ Один _

_ Грузовой вагон _

(Soldier, ready to comply?)

(Yes)

_ One target, level two. You have 12 hours, get to the extraction point as soon as possible. _ The handler slides over a file without a word and the Soldier picks it up. The soldier is then allowed to leave.

This mission requires short distance and for the Soldier to wear civilian clothing to fit the location. Its memory has allowed it to recognize the targets face and name from the file but also little assistance to find her base of operations. 

A professor residing in New York. 

The Soldier has the opportunity to finish the mission early but it finds itself waiting on the roof of the building next to the target’s base of operations until the sun goes down. The empty apartment feels strange. It steadies the rifle on the window of the apartment. From this building there is a perfect view of the target but as soon as it sees the target’s face it freezes. After a moment or two it’s body becomes uncontrollably stiff and less compliant with the mission. 

The Soldier feels nauseous. It steps away from the window and goes through the protocol in its head. 

Protocol tells it to continue with the mission. The Soldier looks around the apartment once again. No immediate threats, it thinks. 

The soldier once again sets up its shot through the window. It notices the target is still in the same position but it looks like it has fallen asleep. The soldier takes the shot. 

The nauseating feeling returns but it hits the Soldier three times harder. It has to clench it’s jaw to avoid leaving traces of its existence, like protocol says. Now it’s time to meet at the extraction point.

As soon as the Soldier steps into the open air, it forces itself to blend in with the crowd on the sidewalk. For a moment its mind focuses on meeting at an abandoned fishing warehouse by the pier, but the next thing it hears is a female passerby saying  _ We gotta go to Coney Island tomorrow! _

The Soldier’s entire body stands frozen in the middle of the sidewalk. People continue to stroll past the Soldier without any regard for it. The Soldier’s eyes widen as it looks around for the sound of the voice. It repeats the exclamation over and over in its head again until suddenly the voice sounds more like a man. 

The faceless man wants to go with the Soldier to Coney Island. 

This breaks way to more conversations with the faceless man. Arguments. Loud coughing. Indignant replies. Stern commands. 

The Soldier goes back to protocol but nothing comes to mind besides the smooth deep voice of someone it does not recognize. 

Go to extraction point. Go to extraction point. Go to extraction point. Go to extraction point. Go- 

Police sirens go off and it breaks the Soldier’s trance. It’s internal clock says that less than five hours have passed since it was given instructions.  _ Breaking news! The body of a woman has been discovered in her Brooklyn apartment- she has now been identified as civil rights activist Professor Rebecca Barnes. More details soon to come.  _ The Soldier falls to the ground, a searing pain in his head. He gets up and makes it to an alleyway before collapsing against the wall. 

_ Becks _ . He could not recognize his own voice. The Soldier turns his head towards the end of the alleyway and that’s when the pain hits him the hardest. His face scrunches up and he clenches his jaw to stop himself from crying out the woman’s name.

He’s cradling a child in his arms and she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He looks up at his ma and she smiles back, the crinkles in the corners of her eyes make his chest swell with pride. The scene melts away and he’s in the alleyway again.

It’s a new memory. He sees a young man. Short with blond hair. The young man is arguing with another man and then the blond one throws a punch. A third man with a uniform steps in and helps the blond one.  _ C’mon Stevie, you can’t keep getting into fights behind every stinkin’ bar!  _

The Soldier lets out gasping breaths at the realization. 

Go to extraction point. Go to extraction point. Go to extraction point. 

He passes out before another thought could start stirring around in his head. They probably tracked his vitals and realized he was having a mental breakdown then hit the panic button. There’s a faint whirring coming from his arm but other than that, the noises of the streets pass in and out. Nothing that plans to stay. 

For a moment he’s stuck in a void of his own mindless thoughts and dulled senses. Then there’s two people dragging him into the back of a van that pulled into the alleyway. 

They hold him down knowing well enough that he’s not in the right state of mind to fight back. One of the men in the van continues to press the side of the Soldier’s face into the floor, utilizing this vulnerable confusion is key. 

Protocol says that in circumstances like these, the handlers have a small window of time before they will have lost all control of The Soldier. They must either Start Over or put the Soldier on ice before it refuses to listen to commands. 

The Soldier stares blankly at the empty white walls of the van through one eye. He can understand every word the men are saying but he slowly loses himself in the blank spots of his memories. He recognized that woman by name but why couldn’t he remember his own? Why couldn’t he remember his own mother’s face before today? How does he know he was brought into existence through natural methods? 

He can feel a seering cold in his fingertips and as it quietly spreads to his entire body, he can’t seem to recall the last time he ever felt warmth. This sense of amnesia is not a particularly novel feeling. Calculating eyes search for his reaction and wait with premeditated and cautious movement. All of them pause and then one man speaks up, “Start over.” 

Another man flips through a red colored journal and begins to recite words from it.

_ The blizzard recedes and there’s nothing left but a vast, barren field of snow. In a matter of minutes it melts and the bodies that were hidden by the blanket of white are left uncovered, eyes open but empty. Their faces pale and dirty. Those with noticeably sunken faces are simply a reflection.  _

_ He knows each person’s name but his brain doesn’t allow him the satisfaction of drawing upon the name. Soon, the bodies turn to dust as they return to the earth that nurtured them. The Soldier watches with a minor discomfort but there’s no real emotion he can hold onto. It moves on without mercy. The nightmare begins.  _

The Asset does not remember when it was woken up but that information is not important. The Handler knows everything, so he slips the Asset a manila folder and says ‘Two Level One targets, you have 24 hours.’ The Asset stares blankly at it’s handler, flips open the folder and then briefly reads it before slipping back into the quiet night.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! if you wanna follow up with me about the fic or are just interested in what i’ve been up to lately catch me at 27re.tumblr.com! if i do end up writing more, in addition to this piece, i will edit everything accordingly :)


End file.
